shadows and sentiments
by Sylph Dancer
Summary: "And maybe his face will light up, and he will hold you and he tell you how much he missed you. How glad he is that you are here now. Maybe he'll tell you how much he needs you, and maybe it will be as much as you need him. Maybe he'll tell you he loves you." For Canute and thexlittlexlisa.


_(Used to be called Blue as the Sky. Except I hated that name 'cause it made the whole 'eyes as blue as the sky' seem seriously fucking redundant.) _

_Playlist: Manhattan by Sara Bareilles, Sparks by Coldplay, Yellow Light by Of Monsters and Men_

* * *

**- s-h-a-d-o-w-s - a-n-d - s-e-n-t-i-m-e-n-t-s -**

* * *

_._

_._

_._

_And I'll tiptoe away so you won't have to say you heard me leave..._

_._

_._

* * *

It is a lovely summer afternoon in Asgard. The sound of insects buzzing lazily drifts through the air like the warm breeze. It is hot in the palace gardens—very hot indeed. At the moment, none but two living souls seem present.

Thor is swinging in the oak tree, the old one in the palace gardens, laughing as he twists and flips in midair. You watch on in awe from the bench beneath the tree.

"That is amazing, brother!" Giggles cascade from your throat as you clamber onto the bench towards your brother, your eyes bright with wonder and hope. "I want to try!"

"No, Loki," Thor scolds. "What if you got hurt?"

You pout, sitting back on your heels. "You're doing it."

"That's because I'm the older brother," Thor says with a funny sort of superiority. Since Thor has turned twelve, it seems everything _he_ does is for older children, while _you_ are still too young.

"You're not that much older," you grumble, curling up and turning away. You are only two years younger than him, after all.

Thor sighs and drops down from the branch. It isn't that you are the younger brother, of course not; it's that you're too small, too untrained. Unlike Thor, you refuse to train heavily, insisting upon reading books of magic.

_Books do not give you strength,_ Thor thinks_. They do not teach you how to swing from trees._

But you don't know that. You don't really care that much, not when Thor smiles at you and tells you in his sure, big-brother way that it's all right. Big brother always loves you no matter what.

_(always always always)_

And so he sits next to you, throwing an arm over your shoulder. "There. See? Now I'm down here with you."

You frown reluctantly, but give in, snuggling up against him. "Tell me a story, brother," you beg. "Please?"

Thor chuckles and ruffles your hair. "Once upon a time, there were two brothers. Their names were—"

"Thor and Loki," you interrupt, snuggling into his chest. "The best names."

"Definitely," Thor agrees. "So, once upon a time, there were two brothers named Thor and Loki."

"And they were both great warriors, and they were strong and fast and smart and—"

"I thought I was the one telling the story," Thor said firmly, and you pout again but relent. "They were two great warrior princes, strong and fast and smart. They went on great adventures every day and saw all sorts of monsters and people. Then when they were old enough, they got married and had lots and lots of children together. They ruled their kingdom wisely, and when they were old, they went to live in the forest."

"The forest?" you mumble.

"Aye, the forest. A little cottage hidden deep in the woods, just for the two of them. All peace and quiet and open air, because they're so tired after being kings. They'll spend all their time together and still have time to spare, just living in the forest. We'll raise animals and grow fruits and vegetables in our garden, too. Corn and tomatoes and apples and strawberries."

"We can have chickens and horses and cows and rabbits?"

"Aye. Lots of chickens with peeping little babies. We'll help our mares give birth. We'll have fresh milk every day from our cows. And we'll have endless rabbits in a little hutch, and we'll play with them all day long."

"Can we have adventures and get married and have children and live in our cottage in the forest?" you ask him. "Promise?"

"Aye, Loki," Thor said softly. "I promise."

You nod. The afternoon is so warm, so comfortable, that you cannot help but drift off. "Thor?" you murmur, your eyes drooping with sleep.

"Mmm?" Thor is only half-awake, stroking your hair back from your face. His back is against the trunk as the afternoon sun smiles down from the heavens above.

"I love you," you mumble softly into Thor's chest. Thor smiles, his eyes watching your sleeping form, the soft breathing lulling Thor into soft sleep as well.

When you are found, you are still curled up together peacefully, dreaming of forests and cottages, as if the two of you could stay that way forever.

They bring you both up to your rooms, and you wake almost instantly, demanding you sleep with your brother in his room. And when they finally oblige, you do not sleep; you only watch Thor, your eyes refusing to

* * *

_look at him, I shan't say a word, I will not give him the satisfaction, I won't, _you think desperately. You don't want to show any remorse, any weakness. You want to cling to the tiny shard of pride you still have left.

You sit collapsed on the ground, your body too weak to fight back, the runes branded on your chains draining away your magic. Thor looks at you, Mjolnir still clutched tight in his grip. This is your first week back from Midgard, inside your prison chambers. You doubt you will never see the light of day again—every single being in the Nine Realms thinks you are too dangerous and too untrustworthy to ever go free. After everything that has happened, you do not want to. You could hide from the world in these dungeons deep under

Thor's eyes are unreadable. Under his gaze, you feel raw and naked and ashamed. "For your crimes against Asgard, you are hereby sentenced to life in prison," he says quietly. Since New York, he has not once looked at you with any emotion, having learned to keep a wall up around you, a barrier to keep you out. The thought is unbearable, but then, he's only giving you a taste of your own medicine.

_"We were raised together, we played together, we fought together. Do you remember none of that?"_

_Do you?_ You want to ask him. You doubt he does now. But you were expecting that, weren't you?

_"I hate you,"_ you say again, then cough, your body wracking with pain.

Thor is there, kneeling in front of you, the barest hint of concern bleeding into his sky-blue eyes. "Loki..."

You squirm; he is too close now, and you cannot get away this time. "Don't touch me!" you bare your teeth, but it breaks into more coughing, more pain. "Just leave me be, Thor," you whisper, curling up in a ball. "Just leave."

But he doesn't. (Of course he doesn't.) Instead he pulls you into his arms, holding you tight against his chest with his face buried in your neck. And you let him. (Of course you let him.)

"Oh, Loki," Thor whispers, his voice breaking, and you look at him, tears slipping down your face. "What have you become?"

_I didn't become anything,_ you want to tell him. _You were just too blind to see who I really was all along._

It does not last long. You are too exhausted, too drained to remain conscious. Soon you are slipping away, watching him leave. He does not look back. And as the exhaustion clouds your mind, you think dimly of how sad it is that he takes all the control you have, no matter how hard you try to push him away. How foolish.

_(come back come back come back)_

Perhaps, if you asked, he would visit you. See you once a week, a month, perhaps even only once a _year,_ so you do not drown in the emptiness that follows, the endless staring at blank walls, remembering every damn thing you did for every second of every day since— but you

* * *

"—won't," Thor slurs, his eyes unfocused. "Wanna keep drinking. MORE MEAD!" he roars. Or he would have, if you had not clapped a hand over his drunken mouth, wincing as he slobbers all over it.

"The prince wishes to go to bed," you announce, but no one notices. They're all drunk. Less so than Thor, who is utterly hammered, but still. All drunk.

(And maybe it is your fault they all got drunk, and maybe it isn't. You only supplied the mead; they didn't have to drink it all.)

So you do your best to pull Thor away, half-supporting and half-dragging the larger man, panting and sweating profusely. By the time you pull him back to his rooms, your hair is clinging to your skin, as are your clothes.

"Loki, le' go 'me," He swipes wildly. "Why're you so mean?" he whines as he collapses into the bed.

"I'm not trying to be mean." You laugh a little, but it comes out choked and forced. "Especially not to you. I have never wanted to be cruel to you."

You turn away, all of the words you have always wanted to tell him bubbling up and out of your throat. "Sometimes I wish I were not your brother. Sometimes I wish that I would be the one who would lay down with you, night after night, and you would be the first thing I would see every morning. I wish that somehow, I would have some chance, no matter how slim, since I don't even have a shred of hope that you could love me the way I love you. Sometimes I wish it didn't _hurt—" _

Your voice breaks. His breathing is deep, and you look at him, unable to speak any more. But it doesn't matter, he's sleeping, and you know you would never have the courage to face him and say this when he could truly hear you.

You look at him for a moment, then tug the covers up and over him, tucking him in as he once did to you when you were little and scared of the monsters that would come, sleeping next to you all night long just to keep you safe.

_(safe safe safe)_

You brush the hair back from your brother's face, that oh-so-familiar tightness in your throat and chest as you watch your brother sleep. Like so many times before, you find yourself unable to look away from Thor's peaceful expression, his chest rising and falling smoothly. Slowly, gently, you press your lips to his forehead, stroking his hair back.

Thor twitches, and your heart leaps in your chest as he shifts in his sleep, his brow furrowing. "You idiot," You whisper, and slump next to him, wondering if you will ever have the courage to say

* * *

"don't call me that," you insist, your eyes filled with anger and hate and malice. _"You are not my brother!"_

You are on the Midgardian aircraft, inside the cage they have made for the angry green one. Thor has come here to speak with you, persuade you to tell him where the Tesseract is.

Thor closes his eyes, his face hard. "Brother, please. I do not wish to fight you. Tell me where the Tesseract is, and I can promise you will be shown leniency on Asgard."

Your face hardens, and you find yourself an inch from his face, slamming your hands against a hardened glass barrier. "Leniency?" you hiss, but it sounds like a choke. "I am not a fool. I have no reason to believe you would keep such a promise."

"Loki." Thor moves forward, presses his palms right where your fists touch the glass, fixing you in place with his gaze. You glare right back, refusing to show any weakness. "Loki, look at me."

It is silent for minutes that stretch into eternity. You feel hot tears burning in your eyes but refuse to let them fall. You will not show him how weak he has made you.

You bite down hard on the inside of your cheek and taste blood. His gaze is infinitely sad, as if he has aged a million years in a few minutes of quiet.

"No," You lie smoothly, and now your face is utterly devoid of emotion, completely shut away from the world. "I do not know, as I told you before, and I certainly would not tell you if I did."

"Loki..." Thor sighs. "Do not do this to me."

You laugh bitterly, shaking your head. "There is nothing I will not do anymore." Your voice breaks. "I have nothing left to lose."

"But I do." He watches you, as if he cannot comprehend why his dear little brother's warm heart has grown so cold, and doesn't he _understand?_ Because you have always had a heart of ice, and he simply failed to realise it before it was too late. "And I cannot lose you."

You close your eyes, screaming at him to _just leave_ from inside. You can feel his eyes burning a hole in the side of your head, angry and frustrated because he can't understand that

* * *

somehow, Thor stopped being just your brother.

Somehow, he became this complex, indefinable role in your life.

Somehow, it got just a little bit too hard to look him in the eye.

Somehow, it became second nature to watch him, drinking in the sight of him with that terrible pressure squeezing your heart in your chest so, so tight.

Somehow, he found a way to steal the breath from your lungs just by smiling at you, his beautiful eyes as blue as the sky and as warm as the sun.

Somehow, it got so, so hard to be close to him, to catch up to him. The list of _why you can never be close to him_ just kept growing and growing: he was too busy, you were too busy, you don't share any interests, you don't share any friends, you hate his friends, his friends hate you, you have no friends anyways because no one likes you, no one likes you because you trick and scheme against them, you trick and scheme with them because you don't like anyone but Thor... it never ended.

And yet _somehow,_ the only thing that really mattered on that list was that Thor was becoming a man, a worthy ruler of Asgard, too busy for his cruel, scheming brother and his mischievous, lying, thieving behavior.

Somehow, Thor grew up, and you never wanted to in the first place.

You're still not quite clear on how everything went sour and how you managed to ruin it all, to the point that you fell in love with the wrong person. All you know now is how much it

* * *

makes you want to laugh, the way you can feel his anger pouring off him in waves, can see fresh pain in his eyes and know that you caused all of it. You remember you once said you would never wish to be cruel to him. Apparently you lie even to yourself.

Thor stands before you, breathing heavily. He has tossed you down on some range of small mountains, some belt of green twining its way below under the silver light of the moon. Everything in his expression conveys hurt, rage, desperation. He still has no self-control, you think, struggling to your feet.

(But you do. Of course you do.)

"Where is the Tesseract?" he demands.

You laugh, and it is an odd, bitter reminiscing laugh. "I missed you too."

Thor growls. "Do I look to be in a gaming mood?"

"Oh, you should thank me," You reply, trying to stamp down the stubborn pounding in your chest with icy words. "With the Bifrost gone, how much dark energy did the Allfather have to muster to conjure you here, your precious Earth?"

He grabs you, dragging you closer to him. "I thought you dead." Thor's eyes are pained.

(You control yourself when he looks at you and you feel your jackrabbit heartbeat pounding in your chest.)

"Did you mourn?" you ask quietly.

Thor blinks. "We all did. Our father..."

You lift one finger, stopping him. _"Your _father," you say softly, pushing him away. "He _did_ tell you my true parentage, did he not?"

Thor's tone is pleading now, and you force yourself not to be affected by that look on his face. It appears he is attempting to bore into your skull with his eyes; you swear you can actually feel them singing the hairs on your head. "We were raised together, we played together, we fought together. Do you remember none of that?"

(You control yourself when you see him touching beautiful women, knowing he would never touch you like that.)

"I remember a shadow, living in the shade of your greatness. I remember you tossing me into an abyss, I who was and should be king!"

"So you take the world I love as recompense for your imagined slights? No, the Earth is under _my_ protection, Loki!" he insists.

You give a nasty laugh. "And you're doing a marvelous job with that! The humans slaughter each other in droves, while you idly fret. I mean to rule them. And why should I not?"

"You think yourself above them?"

You consider for a moment. Do you really? _… Maybe?_ "Well, yes."

"Then you miss the truth of ruling, brother," he murmurs his voice shaking, unintentionally goading your anger. "A throne would suit you ill."

(You control yourself when he pushes his way through your walls, always trying to shove him back out so he never knows the truth.)

You gnash your teeth, storming away. "I've seen worlds you've never known about! I have grown, _Odinson,_ in my exile!" _I am not your baby brother anymore._ The words remain unspoken, but they are there. "I have seen the true power of the Tesseract, and when I wield it—"

"Who showed you this power?" he interrupts. "Who controls the would-be-king?"

"I _am_ a king!" you yell.

"Not here!" he shouts, grabbing you before you can squirm away and shakes you, as if to fling these murderous thoughts from your head. "You give up the Tesseract! You give up this poisonous dream!" He tightens his grip on you, clasping your neck with one hand, thumb stroking just below the shell of your ear; a familiar gesture. You feel your heart seize in your chest. Suddenly you are young again, and you've forgotten everything else but your brother, and how much you just want to_ touch _him.

"You come _home."_

(You control yourself when you are arguing, screaming at each other, an inch from each other's faces, and you think of how easy it would be to just lean forward and press your lips to his.)

You force yourself to breathe, letting out a quiet, almost bitter laugh. (Still, after all this time.) "I don't have it."

He releases you then with a roar of fury, raising his hammer; he will hit you. You continue, letting the lies spill from your throat. "You need the cube to bring me home, but I've sent it off, I know not where."

Thor snarls; his knuckles are painfully white as he grips Mjolnir. "You listen well, brother. I—"

And then he is gone.

(Where is your control now?)

After a moment, you recompose yourself. "I'm listening," you say, but of course you aren't, not really, why would

* * *

_I listen to you?_

_You were deaf to my love long before I was deaf to yours._

As you stand together at the Bifrost, the raze of Jotunheim nearing completion, he looks at you, silently begging you to tell him why, why you are doing this, destroying the Jotuns, and he is so, so different, a Thor you never knew.

Such a pity that you'll never get the chance to know him again.

"I've changed."

You smile, fighting against the ache in your chest, lifting your spear. "So have I."

And you slash at him, letting everything, all the anger and bottled-up rage and pain you have felt from every minute of every day of every week and month and year, eons of pain, wash over you in waves, knocking him back with a grunt.

"I never wanted the throne!" you scream at him. "I only ever wanted to be your _equal!"_

"I will not fight you, brother!" Thor bellows.

"I'm not your brother." You force your voice not to break, to shatter into a million pieces. (He still thinks of you as his dear, oh-so-troubled brother. Of course he does.) "I never was."

_I never wanted to be._

"Loki, this is madness." Thor is shaking. You can see him searching for you. You almost smile; there is nothing left of what you used to be now.

"Is it madness?" you ask roughly. "Is it? Come on, tell me what it was on Earth that turned you so soft!" _Turned you into something I can't recognize._ "Don't tell me it was that woman?" Even you can hear the envy and longing seeping into your voice as you look at him, desperately hoping that you already know isn't true.

He says nothing. In that moment it seems he has ripped your heart from your chest and smashed it with his boot, splintering and shattering and smashing it beyond repair. You can feel tears burning and slipping from your eyes, your breath coming out in shuddering gasps, but you try to silence yourself. (You never held a single claim to him anyways.)

"Oh," you breathe, your voice torn and rough and bubbling up with tears. "It _was." _You stifle a sob. "Well, maybe, when we're finished here, I'll pay her a visit _myself!"_

Thor growls and lunges forward. _Finally,_ you scream, and you throw yourself at him, weapons clashing, stabbing and rolling and thrusting your spear, trying to hurt him, relishing this, because of course Thor would be too wrapped up in the battle to see the tears streaking freely down your face.

As you go flying through the air, you mutter an enchantment to cushion the blow, struggling to your feet and cast a quick spell. An illusion flashes in the corner of your vision, begging Thor to help him up, and he does. You laugh bitterly behind him, and the illusion vanishes, replaced by many more by your side.

"Enough!" Thor shouts, slamming the hammer down to the ground and sending you flying backwards.

As you groan in pain, dazed and wincing, you open your eyes to see him looking down at you, his eyes dark and guarded. He places Mjolnir on your chest, turning away to look at the Bifrost, knowing you cannot lift it. He knows you are not worthy.

(You will never be worthy. But you know that already, don't you?)

"Look at you," you shout as you struggle and squirm, meeting his gaze. "The mighty Thor. All your strength, and what good does it do you now?" Thor looks back at you, expression wild. "Do you hear me, brother?" you yell. "There's nothing you can do!"

He lifts his hand, and Mjolnir flies to him.

As you struggle to your feet, your heart pounding madly in your chest, you hear the crunch, the snap, and watch in horror as Thor slams his hammer down into the bridge, over and over again, his shouts of exertion not quite lost over the roar of the Bifrost.

"What are you doing?" you demand. He ignores you, slamming his hammer down onto the bridge with a cry. "If you destroy the bridge, you'll never see her again!" you shriek, stumbling to your feet and running towards him, trying to stop him.

"Forgive me, Jane," you hear him say before he strikes the bridge one last time.

Everything explodes with fire and light, sending the Bifrost tumbling, tumbling down into nothingness and you over the edge as well. Panic grips your heart as you scream, flying over the edge of the broken bridge and into the darkness—

And he is there, and so is the All-Father, keeping you from falling. Thor holds the other edge of your spear, desperation in his eyes. A struggling Father holds his ankle, and you grip the other end of the spear tightly.

The sight of your father, the man for whom you have strived to show your greatness, has broken past all of your barriers and harsh words. You are a child again, and you can feel tears, icy hot then bitter cold, slipping down your cheeks into an abyss as everything crumbles to pieces.

"I could've done it!" you call out, almost begging him to understand why you did what you did. Your voice is shaking. "I could've done it, Father! For you! For all of us!"

"No, Loki." Odin's face is sad, endlessly sad, as if he has always known this would happen, as if you have disappointed him for the last time, as if he, too, has always known that you were never worthy of Thor. As if he pities you. The thought is more than you can bear.

"Loki, no," Thor begs, eyes widening as he realises what you are about to do.

_(sorry sorry sorry)_

You let your grip loosen, and you fall, tumbling backwards, falling from the edge of the world with Thor's cry of despair echoing in your ears. You close your eyes, imagining that you are sleeping, and maybe, like you have done for eons past, you will

* * *

dream of him.

Just like you always do.

You stand in a meadow, clean and pure. Lovely flowers wave gently in a soft breeze, sunlight outlining the world in gold edging, the grass thick beneath your toes. It is beautiful here.

Thor stands before you, tall and warm and golden, a smile on his face, as if he has been waiting for you. His hair glints like sunlight, and the breeze that rises around you brings his earthen, comforting scent close. You breathe deeply and swallow hard, already feeling your eyes start to burn. He is so beautiful, so perfect.

(He isn't yours and he never was.)

"Hello, Thor."

He says nothing, simply continuing to at you with that familiar laughter in his eyes. It has been forever since he has looked at you like that.

"I never wanted to hurt you. But I had to. You know that, don't you? You must."

He does not move, does not speak, his perfect curve of a mouth still etched sweetly on his beautiful face.

"I—I _loved_ you. I still do. But I had to, you see. We're brothers, after all. I... I'm not supposed to." You are blathering now, but you don't care—just the sight of him sends your world crashing down over your head, as only he can do.

"You know, it's silly, but even now, I still can't get rid of this _sentiment." _You give a choked little laugh, unable to tear your gaze away. "That's why I had to do whatever it took to push you away, you see? It's better this way for the both of us. It's better if you don't love me at all, because—because then perhaps I wouldn't want to be near you so badly. I—I can get over you this way."

He looks at you, all adoring eyes, still that same gorgeous shade that you have always, always loved. Your halting, stuttering laugh has turned to sobs. "You are _everything_ to me, you know. You always have been. And it still hurts so _much._ But... I promise... I can stop loving you."

You don't think you've ever felt so cold.

"I think what hurts the most is how easy it was to push you away," you whisper. "and I think maybe you didn't ever love me as much as you thought you were supposed to, because it was just so_ easy_. But... I like to pretend, sometimes, that you really do still love me anyways. It makes it all hurt less to pretend."

You look at him, still frozen in place, already knowing that this is nothing more than a beautiful dream. And you want to stay dreaming. You could be here like this forever, and you would finally be happy. But you _will_ wake up. You always do. So you take a step closer, reaching out to touch him. You press your palm against his cheek.

He's warm.

_(happy happy happy)_

"I'm sorry."

When you wake, you are drenched in cold sweat and shaking madly. Your face is wet; you have been crying in your sleep. The blank ceiling of your cell in Asgard stares back at you, empty, cold.

Such a beautiful dream.

As you hunch down into yourself, bone-tired and sleepless, you know that tonight, like so many nights before, you will not

* * *

"—sleep, brother," Thor whispers in your ear. His hand brushes your sweat-dampened locks back from your forehead, pressing a blessedly cool kiss on the fevered skin. The breath in your lungs is shallow, your throat is raw, and there is a dull ache ringing throughout your entire body, keeping you from any simple comfort.

He isn't even supposed to be here, really. He'll be sick as well, catch your cold. Or at least, that was what the nurse had told Thor, scolding him as she took gentle care of the younger prince. But here he is now, pressing a cool, damp cloth to your forehead, comforting you constantly, ignoring your weak protests when he adds more furs on top of your covers, trying to break the fever.

But the soft moon is shining, sending its gentle beams in through the windows, and the long, empty silence of the castle is peaceful; and with Thor here, it hurts a bit less.

"Close your eyes," he murmurs, and you sigh quietly, letting your eyes flutter shut as sleep rushes over your head like the waves of the ocean.

"Stay with me," you think you whisper hoarsely, but perhaps that was a dream.

And perhaps, as the waves take you into deep slumber, you feel soft lips on your cheek, lingering too close to your mouth to be simply innocent, and a reply: _"Always."_

But that would be ridiculous. A preposterously clichéd and desirous delusion concocted by only the most foolish minds. Thor would never kiss you. And yet, you have never felt so

* * *

_tired._

Such irony, that a would-be-king would be too tired to fight for a would-be-throne.

The buildings of Midgard are collapsing in flames. Ruin is everywhere; the city has been razed. All around, the Chitauri are flying, fighting, killing and destroying. The sound of screams burns red-hot in your ears, but you force yourself to ignore it. Broken, chaotic thoughts seem to be fluttering madly within your mind.

"Loki!" Thor calls, eyes burning with fury. "Turn off the Tesseract or I will destroy it!"

"You can't!" you yell back at him, feeling some sick satisfaction as he growls at you. "There is no stopping it! There is only the war."

"So be it." Thor looks up at you, expectant, as if he believes this will all be over soon enough. As if he thinks you will lay down your weapons, return to Asgard, fall back into the shadows behind him and everything will be as it should be.

The hatred you have felt for so long swells up, because even now, he still thinks he can see some shred of good left in you, still thinks you are not beyond redemption, still thinks you are worth saving, and you hate that you wish he was right. But he's not.

You throw yourself forward with a snarl, slashing and hacking and blasting at him with your spear for all you are worth, your eyes burning with unshed tears. He retaliates, swinging Mjolnir at you, driving you back as you battle. When the Midgardian plane dips towards you, you blast it. A second too late, you turn back, but Thor is already there, sending you backwards in a tackle, his fists slamming into your face. He shoves you up against a wall, his eyes ablaze as he traps you there with his hammer digging painfully into your armour.

"Look at this!" Thor shouts, shoving Mjolnir harder into your chest. "Look around you!" The whole world is falling to pieces. "You think this madness will end with your rule?"

"It's too late," you say, your voice distant in your ears, bone tired. "It's too late to stop it." You look away, breathing hard.

"No," Thor insists, turning your face back to his, and his eyes are filled with hope and melancholy and all his brotherly love, and your heart aches in your chest. "We can. _Together."_

_Together._

You look at him, feeling your resolve weaken. You could be together again. It would be so easy, just to submit, to end it all. Maybe you could still redeem yourself, finally be worthy of the mighty Thor—

But things aren't that simple. (They never are.) And you can't go back to the way things were, you can't change, and you know it. _You know it. _Even with all of your flaws, your imperfections, your horrors, you only ever wanted for him to love you anyways.

But he _doesn't._

You give him a terrible, cracked-lipped smile and stab him in the side. He grunts in pain and stumbles backwards, and you can see the utter betrayal in his eyes.

"Sentiment," you whisper, and back away quickly, because he is trying to hurt you now, slamming you into the ground, thin glass shattering all around you and catching up flecks of red blood, displaying his rage and pain at your betrayal. Quick as thought, you roll away and fall through the sky, landing on a hovercraft and zooming away.

The tears are falling, sliding down your cheeks like rain water, and you let them, still trying to stand tall with all your damned pride even though it feels as if the world has been ripped away from beneath you.

He's everything you want, the only everything you would need and everything you can't have. You've known that all along, even as it truly hits you now. No matter how far you try to run from it, you can never escape the truth: no matter how much you love Thor, he will never, ever love you back.

But that's all right. You always knew how it would end. Your story was only ever meant to be a tragedy. As long as you love Thor, everything will be fine, and maybe someday you won't feel as if you've ripped your own heart out.

_(it's okay it's okay it's okay)_

You close your eyes, trying to pretend that this is nothing more than a nightmare, and you are asleep, and all you have to do is wake up and it will be all over and you will be home, but then, you don't have a home anymore—

* * *

_a__nd to think,_ you muse, _there was once a time when I called this place my home._

But that time has long passed, you know, and there would be no point in returning so many years later. After all you have done, your sins, your cruel deeds, you are not welcome anywhere now. All of Asgard thinks you're a failure, a traitor who tried to kill his own brother too many times, a monster who tries to destroy the innocent realm of Midgard. To them, it is a good riddance. You have no home, no family, and no one who would care or desire your return.

You have a different purpose. New plans, and one day soon you will be a king, finally worthy enough to stand side by side, equal to the mighty Thor Odinson.

After all, that's all you've ever really wanted, isn't it?

Thor is sleeping. His stance is so calm, so peaceful that for a moment you hesitate, almost release your cloak of magic and let go for a moment, just in some bizarre hope that he will see you. Maybe his face will light up, and he will hold you and he tell you how much he missed you. How glad he is that you are here now. Maybe he'll tell you how much he needs you, and maybe it will be as much as you need him. Maybe he'll tell you he loves you. You almost do, when Thor shifts his face, streaked with dried tear tracks, new lines cutting through the old grime.

"Promise, Jane," he murmurs. "Promise I'll come back soon…"

_(shatter shatter shatter)_

And so you turn away with tears sliding down your face, oblivious to the miniscule slip of your magic; you do not sense the inevitable, almost inaudible rustle of cloth against air, and a flicker of forest green against gold.

But Thor does. (Of course he does.) And Thor, whose deep blue eyes flash open and widen with shock and desperate hope, silently mouths his brother's name: _Loki._

With a flurry of movement, he throws back the sheets and tumbles out of bed, eyes glowing with happiness. The excitement and hope on his face is like that of a child on Christmas; he is reaching out with his arms thrown wide, ready to embrace his brother, and everything will be all right—_everything will be all right—_

But you're already gone, distant, aloof, and so, so far from his reach, and Thor stops, breathing hard with his hands still outstretched. He lowers hands to the sides with his fists clenched, thinking that he was wrong, and it was nothing more than a longing hallucination. Thor falls to his knees, putting his head in his hands. His shoulders shake with anguished sobs, lost in painful memories and desperate hopes that he can't bring himself to let die.

* * *

_(Tell me a story, brother.)_

Late afternoon sun tickles your skin lazily. You lie together on the grassy side of a hill, close enough to the palace and yet distant enough that you feel a whole universe away.

Thor came of age yesterday. Female suitors are already lining up outside the door.

_(Please?)_

"Loki?"

"Hmm?" you say absently, watching the clouds drift past, the sky a lovely shade of blue. _Just like Thor's eyes,_ you think. You begin counting clouds, alone in your thoughts.

"I'm getting married someday. Most likely soon."

_(Once upon a time, there were two great warrior princes, named Thor and Loki. They were strong and fast and smart. They went on great adventures every day and saw all sorts of monsters and people. Then when they were old enough, they got married and had lots and lots of children together. They ruled their kingdom wisely, and when they were old, they went to live in the forest.)_

Pause.

_(The forest?)_

Breathe in. Breathe out.

_(Aye, the forest.)_

"I know."

Hesitation.

"Do you think you will ever marry, brother?"

_(A little cottage hidden deep in the woods, just for the two of them. All peace and quiet and open air, because they're so tired after being kings. They'll spend all their time together and still have time to spare, just living in the forest. They'll raise animals and grow fruits and vegetables in their garden, too. Corn and tomatoes and apples and strawberries.)_

"For political reasons, perhaps. You know Father."

"I think you will, but for love." Thor's voice is soft. "You're so smart, and good, and you're so lovely." His tone has grown wistful. "I'm sure someone would fall for you in an instant and sweep you off your feet." You laugh. "If you ever marry, do you think you'll have children?"

_(We can have chickens and horses and cows and rabbits?)_

"I'm not quite sure."

You can hear the pout in his voice. "I do wish to have a niece or nephew with those beautiful green eyes of yours."

"Of course you would."

Thor chuckles. "It's all right if you don't want to have children, Loki. You're my brother. I'll always love you no matter what you do."

_(Aye. Lots of chickens with peeping little babies. We'll help our mares give birth. We'll have fresh milk every day from our cows. And we'll have endless rabbits in a little hutch, and we'll play with them all day long.)_

"Perhaps, brother," you whisper. "We shall see."

"I'd like that," Thor says after a while. You can hear the smile in his voice.

Silence.

"We will grow old together, won't we, Loki?"

_(Can we have adventures and get married and have children and live in our cottage in the forest? Promise?)_

_If only, if only._ You could almost laugh at the endless sky if not for the tears that have begun to slip softly down your pale cheeks, dripping to the grassy ground in glittering silence. "Of course, Thor. You are my brother, after all... I wouldn't have it any other way."

"We'll always be together." He is solemn and sure. You wipe away your tears, plastering a bitter little smile on your face as he sits up, gazing at you. "Always."

_(Aye, Loki. I promise.)_

"Always," you repeat, an empty promise even to your own ears, and close your eyes, blocking out the sky.

* * *

_._

_._

_My heart is yours, it's you that I hold on to..._

_._

_._

_._

* * *

_For Canute, writer of marvelous fan fiction that relates to Loki, and a great lover of chocolate; and thexlittlexlisa, one of the most amazing writers I will ever know. Thanks for the inspiration, you two. _

_Special kudos to my beta Aquanova. I hope that stack of work on your desk finally shrinks._

Also, could you please review? I like reviews. I like them very much. Please?

___All rights go to Marvel._


End file.
